Looking after your puppies
I recently had my yearly mammogram, because in addition to being proactive about my health, I am something of a hypochondriac. Those two things may somehow be related, but I'm not a psychiatrist, so I couldn't say for sure.
Anyway, I had my mammogram, which is a rite of passage for women along the spectrum of bleeding through your feminine hygiene product while wearing white pants and having to ask your gynecologist about hemorrhoids: Something you're going to do at some point if you haven't already, but don't worry: EVERYONE ELSE HAS, TOO. We're just too classy to have a party about it. Although we shouldn't be, because how awesome would that party be? I'd toss in peeing your pants in Target at some point, too, but that is when shit gets real, and it's a little more horrifying than anything else.
Anyway, I started getting yearly mammograms when I turned 40, and while there is talk about how you don't need a yearly screening, I get the feeling that the talk is mostly from people who either don't need screening [i.e., men] or people who get yearly screenings and have only had clear sailing [women with excellent genes/health insurance].
My first mammogram found a small lump, which they had to re-check via another mammogram and an ultrasound, which still showed the lump in all its pearlescent glory. They weren't sure if it was benign or not. And then they gave me the option of waiting to see what happens or having a biopsy.
What I want to know is, WHO THE FUCK WAITS? Seriously. Who, at that point, decides, "You know what? Let's just hold off. I'm feeling lucky."
Needless to say, I had the biopsy. It was benign. I have never felt so relieved.
And I am back at the boob squisher, every year like clockwork, because I am not fucking around with these puppies. My v-neck sweaters would kill me.